


let me be your taste test

by bonafake



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, F/M, Halloween, M/M, Necromancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 02:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8269915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonafake/pseuds/bonafake
Summary: October 31st. Halloween. Obviously. Adam is trying to raise the dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> here's a short little halloween-themed pynch one-shot! the title is from ghost by halsey! 
> 
> notes: adam parrish/ronan lynch, halloween, alternate universe - different first meeting, necromancy, failed magician-hood, gas stations at three in the morning, slushies, first kisses.

It's ― it’s not weird, Adam claims later. 

Ronan is ninety nine point nine percent sure that's not true. 

// 

October 31st. Halloween. Obviously. Adam is trying to raise the dead. 

He looks around, and there’s a sound. 

There’s a guy standing there ― the kind of guy whose very presence demands attention. Frankly, he looks more like the kind of guy that ought to be raising the dead than Adam ― Adam is dust colored, wearing a frayed red sweatshirt and a Coca-Cola t-shirt, because not everyone is made of money and he is what he is ― but this guy ― he’s got a shaved head and a hooked, cruel grin, and there’s an intricate, dark tattoo that’s clearly visible on his shoulder and yeah, he looks a lot more like the kind of person that would be attempting necromancy on a particularly auspicious date. Yeah. 

“Hey,” he says. Adam’s mouth goes dry. Of course. Of course this asshole has to have the kind of voice that makes his knees go weak. 

“Hey,” Adam says back. Keep your chill, Parrish. Just trying to raise the dead over here. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Um.” 

It’s not what it looks like, is the first thing that crosses his mind. But really ― it is. He’s got a trowel and a grease-stained bag of McDonald's on the dirt next to him and is currently getting ready to slit his wrist to bleed on the grave so that the dead will have something to rise from. He settles for, “It’s probably not as bad as you think it is.” 

There’s a pause, a stormy silence from the dark figure next to him. “If you’re doing what I think you're doing then it is.” 

“What do you think I'm doing?” It’s a challenge, when Adam asks. What does this stranger know exactly, and how can he use it? 

The stranger shrugs. “Raising the dead.” 

// 

The first time he meets Adam, it’s in a graveyard on Halloween. The second time, it’s in a gas station on November first. 

Ronan can't decide which is better.

// 

Adam looks at the guy for a second. “You kind of ―” 

“― hit the nail on the head?” 

“Yeah.” He stands there, knife in hand. He probably looks very threatening. “It ― it’s almost midnight.” 

“So?” 

“So I want to raise the dead. Can you ―” 

“I’m not going to let you do something illegal ―” 

“― not strictly illegal ―” 

“― illegal enough ―”

“― c’mon, I have to ―” 

“Why?” 

That stops Adam. Why? Gansey had asked him. Blue had asked him. He hadn't answered. “I have to,” he says, even though now, it feels less like obligation and more like want. 

“Who?” the stranger asks, nodding towards the grave. “Parents?” 

Adam scoffs. “As if.”

“Not parents.” 

“If it were, I’d probably have been the one to put them there.” 

“Oh.” The stranger sits down. “Continue.” 

Adam does ― picking up the trowel to dig a hole for the offering and placing the McDonald's bag into it. He hears the stranger stifle a laugh. 

“Christ,” the stranger says. 

“What?” Adam asks, annoyed. “I can only do this once every thirty two years, so make it snappy.”

“You’re shoving a fucking Happy Meal ―” 

“― it’s a Big Mac ―” 

“― into a fucking hole to raise the fucking dead ―” 

“― quite a lot of fuckings for just one sentence ―”

“― and I don't know your fucking name.” 

“Adam,” he says finally. “You?” 

“Ronan. Lynch. Whatever. Call me whatever.” 

“Hi, whatever. I’m Adam.” 

Ronan grins, knife-like and cold. “Nah, man. Call me Ronan.” 

// 

Ronan ― he likes the aesthetic of his relationship with Adam. They go to abandoned churches on weekends for dates and hold hands while sitting on rotting pews and collect pheasant feathers for Adam’s rituals and they race in his car and this year for Beltane they’re going to guide his father’s cows through two tiny fires and ― 

He likes it, is what he’s saying. 

He’s just not sure that’s all he wants.

// 

He tries to perform the ritual. 

He tries, but ― everything ― it sort-of goes wrong. The clouds cover the moon, and the Big Mac’s soda spills before he can pour it with his incantations, and his knife isn't sharp enough to make the cut. 

When all’s said and done, Adam flops down on a rock. 

“Damn,” Ronan says. “Sorry, man.” 

Adam sighs. “Yeah. It’s ― it’s alright. I can try to do it again in thirty two years.” 

Ronan laughs. “You still gonna be doing this in thirty years?”

“Hope so. I’m the magician. It’s sort of ― what I do.” 

“Got time for gas station coffee with all that?” 

Adam sneaks a look at Ronan, who is dangerous and beautiful in the faded, grey moonlight covered by the clouds. “Yeah. I ― I think I do.” 

“So,” Ronan says. “Do you ― think maybe we should clean up?” 

Adam stares at him for a second ― then laughs. Of course the guy that asked him out for coffee after his dead-raising ritual had failed would be the only guy who would ever ask anyone out after attempted necromancy to want to fucking clean up afterwards. 

“Sure,” he says, and he feels as light, light as air because Ronan ― no, this ― it’s going to work. They pick up the Big Mac and Adam’s knife and try to fix the gravestone so that it stands upright again, and Ronan packs in dirt with the tiny, tin trowel while Adam holds the gravestone upright. He wipes off the knife and stands up. His jeans are probably filthy and covered with damp earth, but Adam ― he could care less.

“Let’s go,” Ronan says. “And we’re taking my car.” 

Adam hadn't expected Ronan to have a bright orange Camaro ― maybe a Prius, or a minivan, or a Corvette, or a BMW ― and Ronan laughs at the surprise etched into his face. “I borrowed my friend’s.” 

“This friend ― Richard Campbell Gansey the third, right?” 

“Right,” says Ronan. “How do you know him?”

“Um,” says Adam. He’s still startled by the sudden appearance of Gansey’s car. “I think I’m his magician?” 

“That ― explains a lot.”

“Who are you?” 

“His poet,” Ronan says, and his voice fades off, like the fog above them. “In a way.” 

They drive to the only gas station in Henrietta that’s open twenty four seven and Ronan is fast ― Adam doesn't think he’s even briefly lightened up on the gas pedal, and his hand is on the stick shift and after a pause, Adam puts his hand there too. The moment ― yeah, moment ― is only interrupted by the squawking sound from the back of the car. Adam jumps. 

“You have a raven. You have a fucking raven,” he says in disbelief.

Ronan laughs. “Meet Chainsaw.”

//

Gansey is happy for them, Ronan knows. It just ― sometimes it comes out in skeptical questions and raised eyebrows. You met how? You did what? 

Of course, he doesn't say anything, just judges silently while him and Blue go on normal dates to the movies and don't kiss and he brings her home promptly at eleven. 

Either way, uniqueness is inherent in both of their relationships and maybe that's why they work. 

// 

The gas station. Three in the morning, November first. 

Ronan has his mouth around a straw and his tongue is bright red. There’s an icy film of water over the cup. Adam hadn't expected him to purchase a gas station quality cherry slurpee. He sips at his coffee while the cashier gives them suspicious looks, and Ronan sucks at his cherry slurpee and asks Adam what he does when he’s not trying to raise the dead. 

“Fix cars. Go to school.” He’s pretty certain that he’s not imagining the change in Ronan’s expression at that. 

“Cars, you say?” 

Adam grins. This, he’s certain, is the start of something good. 

// 

The first time Ronan kisses Adam, he tasted like a cherry slurpee and his mouth was ice-cold. They stood in a gas station with a condescending cashier and the scent of gasoline on their wrists, their clothes. Adam kissed him back. 

He thinks about that a lot, too.


End file.
